


Too Late?

by SBlackmane



Series: Lion, 9:41 Dragon [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:57:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: In the aftermath of Haven, Cullen wonders if he missed his opportunity to be more than friends with Adaar.





	Too Late?

After Haven was attacked, the Inquisition started over at Skyhold.

It was a new beginning for the surviving members, a fresh start for some, and a blessing for others. But many were still recovering from the events that capsized the organization. While many looked forward to the future ahead, some were still buried in that devastation, like the bodies of those buried in the avalanche that bought them time to escape. Cullen Rutherford was one of such people, whose mind was still circling around that fateful night, even as he shouldered the burden of preparing their troops for the days ahead.

They'd lost so many good men and women, and more often than not, Cullen wondered how he could've saved them, what more he could've done. The same as he shouldered the burden, he shouldered the blame for the attack. Had his men been vigilant that night, instead of celebrating, perhaps they would've been better prepared, and more people would've survived. He wasn't the only one to blame themselves, of course. Leliana did as well, regretting her decision to pull her scouts back, but Cullen still lost sleep at night.

There was only the day ahead to keep his mind from wandering to such dark places.

The Inquisition was in better spirits since the Herald assumed the mantle of Inquisitor, however. He was an inspiration to the people; strong, dedicated and determined, as well as incredibly selfless to have been willing to sacrifice himself, staying behind so that the others could escape. The way he boldly marched out of the Chantry, alone, unafraid, to face that devil of a dragon. Cullen would never forget his parting words either. "That dragon isn't the only one with fire, Commander," he'd said, with a smile, before heading out.

As if he were running out to chase chickens, not single-handedly face off a dragon so they could make their exit.

Unbelievable, that one.

Even in the face of death, he remained ever stoic.

Cullen thought that would be the last he'd ever see of Ataashi Adaar, the Dragon of the Inquisition.

But he lifted his amber eyes from where they rested on the building plans spread out before him to spot glistening horns, obsidian in the blaring sunlight, across the lower bailey, and saw the kossith in debate with Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas. He couldn't hear their conversation, but no one looked particularly happy about the topic at hand. He was no longer wearing black and gold antaam-saar, and no longer carried a golden dragon staff, as his gear had been damaged in battle, and his staff lost somewhere in the avalanche.

Instead he wore a cotton tunic with the sleeves torn off, and a pair of slacks. He was covered head to toe in sweat and grime from assisting the builders with clearing out the rubble in the keep. He looked irritated, and as he'd lost his pipe back at Haven, he clenched a small sliver of wood between his teeth in place of it, squinting his eyes when the sun hit his face. Yes, Cullen had thought he would never see Adaar ever again, but alas there he stood, alive and well, towering over the Seeker and their cohorts.

Cullen reverted his attention to the parchment in front of him, biting the inside of his cheek.

They hadn't spoken since before the attack. That night, on the dock, was the last time Cullen held private council with the man. He'd thought perhaps to speak to him after the Breach was sealed, to at least explain his erratic behavior that night, but when he'd finally worked up the nerve to talk to Adaar, it was that moment he spotted torches in the mountains above the valley, and signaled the watchmen on the walls of an attack. It seemed the Maker had other plans for Cullen, and those plans did not include Adaar.

His window of opportunity had closed.

Now, they faced a formidable enemy, an army of Templars infected with Red Lyrium, lead by an ancient darkspawn Magister with his very own pet dragon. Not that the _Inquisition's_ dragon wasn't lethal, but this one had wings. Adaar now led the organization, and was tasked with a greater responsibility than even that of Herald of Andraste. Skyhold Keep was in ruin, having been abandoned years upon years ago, and would take a considerable amount of time, money, and effort to maintain. To name a few concerns.

There was too much to focus on, but Cullen _did_ regret never telling Adaar the truth. That perhaps what he felt for the giant went beyond mere friendship, but it was too late now. No use ever bringing it up. Not when there was so much on his plate that mattered more. Not when it was impossible now. So he ignored the pang in his gut same as he ignored the throbbing in his temples, as a runner reported to his station, saying, "Commander, soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters."

"Very good," Cullen told the young man, and added, "I'll need an update on the armory as well."

The boy nodded, but still stood there a moment longer, absently scratching himself, like an imbecile, grating on the Commander's nerves.

"Now," he barked, and the runner scurried off, as Adaar was wandering over. He glanced up to see the towering dragon's curious gaze following the runner that just left.

Adaar huffed a little and asked, "How's it coming?"

Cullen kneaded his brow. "We set up as best we could at Haven," he said. "But we could never prepare for an Archdemon, or...whatever that was. With some warning, we might've..." He sighed. There had been no warning. And it was foolish to think Haven ever stood a chance. "If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw. And I wouldn't want to. We must be ready. With work on Skyhold underway, and guard rotations established, we should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor."

Both men blinked rapidly at how easily the title had rolled off Cullen's tongue. _Inquisitor_. Well, it was certainly easier to say than Herald of Andraste, of which neither man ever gave much consideration to. Adaar flat-out denied the possibility of being delivered from the Fade by the Maker's bride, and the idea did seem a bit far-fetched. It was just a moniker at this point, but _Inquisitor_ , on the other hand, was a bit more substantial. And well-earned, at that, in the Commander's opinion. There were few that could dispute that.

He'd led them thus far, and now it was simply official.

"Yeah, I don't ever plan on repeating what happened any time soon," Adaar commented, moving to lean against the table beside Cullen. Hunched over like he was, the height was slightly less of a bother, and slightly easier on Cullen's neck. "I saw you give those names to Leliana earlier. A long list. We lost a lot of people. I'm almost afraid to ask how many."

Cullen nodded a little. "Most of our people did make it to Skyhold," he said. "It could've been worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor."

Adaar shrugged, and stared off into the empty courtyard. He looked grim. Had been that way ever since the attack. As if something killed the last spark of good humor Adaar had in him. Though Cullen didn't know what specifically, it could've been any number of things. The hardship they endured had taken its toll on everyone, including him. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you made it," he said. "These people would've been lost without your direction."

"My direction?" Cullen questioned, incredulously. "I do believe it was _your_ bold decision to stay behind that got us safely out of Haven, Inquisitor."

Adaar huffed. "But it was _you_ that lead them out," he reminded. "Without you, there would've been no one and nothing waiting for me in that blizzard. It should've been you holding that sword, Commander. You accepting the role of Inquisitor."

Cullen sighed. He didn't realize Adaar felt that way. That he didn't deserve the title of command bestowed upon him. But Cullen felt he did. He wholeheartedly supported Cassandra when she suggested they award that title to the Tal-Vashoth. It was Leliana and Josephine that questioned the decision. Leliana argued that it would dent the Inquisition's reputation to have a faithless Qunari leading them. Not her own words, of course, hers were much more delicate, but they _implied_ that stance on the subject.

Josephine questioned his ability to handle the day to day tasks of leading them, everything from the politics to the pleasantries. She doubted he could handle the pressure, and much like Cullen, he had absolutely no patience for nobility. He preferred a direct approach to any problem, and had no care for political intrigue, let alone the Grand Game Orlesians were fond of playing. He preferred forthrightness, and seeing as he was their only means of sealing rifts, he would not be able to maintain a steady presence at Skyhold.

But Cassandra and Cullen both had a counter argument to this, and it was finally agreed that he was far more suitable than any alternative.

But Adaar himself questioned the decision, it seemed.

Cullen sighed. "You will not face this alone," he assured. "You will have our support. No one will expect you to take on the position singlehandedly. We stand with you."

Adaar nodded a little in grim acceptance of his words, though still didn't look completely convinced by them. "Thanks," he mumbled. Cullen nodded.

He wanted to say something then, but he didn't know _what_ to say. He owed this man everything. His loyalty. His _life_. And he admired how frivolously Adaar would've thrown his away, for strangers he barely knew. Simply because it was the right thing to do. That tightness in Cullen's gut intensified for a moment, and his heart raced in his chest. He knew he could not act on this feeling, and could not offer more than friendship, but Maker how he wished he could. He wished it were as simple as saying, 'Yes.'

Adaar pushed himself off the desk and started to walk away.

"You stayed behind," Cullen told him, causing him to turn. "When you could've..."

Adaar blinked quizzically in confusion. Cullen swallowed.

"I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again," he promised. "You have my word."

Adaar jerked his head once in a nod, but stalked away, leaving Cullen to his work. For some reason, that only made him feel worse. He in no way felt relieved by their conversation's end. He wanted things to be different. But they couldn't be, could they? All he could ever offer was his loyalty, his promise. And that dark cloud would forever hover over them. It couldn't possibly have worked out in their favor, at any rate. Lions and Dragons were very different creatures, no fitting match.

And Cullen sank in despair at the thought.

He pushed through the rest of his day as if there were no issue, but once he'd a moment to himself, he sought out Cassandra in the training yard. He found her hacking and slashing at a straw target, looking quite flustered over something, and at a guess, it had to do with Varric's latest slip. Cullen could admit, it vexed him as well that Varric should bring his former associate to Skyhold. But it was a matter best reserved for the Seeker and the Inquisitor to deal with. He stopped short of the warrior, who paused in her training.

"Something the matter?" she asked.

"Might I speak with you?" he requested, and she nodded, then jerked her head toward the steps leading up to the battlements.

He desperately needed her advice, for if anyone knew how to handle this situation, it would be the former Right Hand of the Divine.

After all, he did trust her with his most treasured secrets.

He followed her up the steps and to an unoccupied area of the ramparts, where there weren't as many eyes and ears, and therefore any way that what he spoke of would be overheard. Cassandra leaned against the wall overlooking the intimidating drop below, and rested her elbows on the cold stone. Cullen absently gripped the hilt of his blade, a reflexive action, one that kept his hands from shaking, betraying his unease. "What did you wish to speak to me about?" Cassandra asked, and Cullen took a deep breath.

"I...may have feelings for the Inquisitor," he admitted.

He was met with crickets.

He glanced over to see the Seeker's jaw had dropped, and instantly regretted ever speaking his thoughts.

A little too late to take it back, however.


End file.
